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It was cold. Cold on the flesh and cold in the heart. Aziraphale tied his tunic around his neck a bit more tightly to try and keep the draft from the broken windows off of his neck and shoulders. He miracled some more wool blankets for the humans who were huddled in the ruined Temple.
“There, there. It will surely be alright.” He smiled and pressed an angelic hand on the heads of the little ones who were shivering, placing blankets over them and humming them to sleep. There was no reason why they should be forced to hear the sounds of war outside. They were innocent, regardless of what Heaven had to say about it.
Aziraphale stood and looked out the window. He could see the glow of torches coming from across the distance. King Antiochus was coming, and Judas Maccabeus and his rebels were ready for him. Aziraphale hoped that the miracles that he had placed around the Temple would be strong enough to withstand the fight; he was not permitted to intervene anymore than he already had. Heaven had given orders to protect the Temple, not the people. He was exhausted from watching battle after battle, and could not understand why Heaven would sanction such atrocities to happen or how God could allow her prize creations to destroy each other in these terrible ways.
He had gone to Gabriel several times and the conversation was always the same.
“But there doesn’t have to be a war.” He would plead.
“Of course there does, otherwise how would we win it?” Gabriel’s smug grin pierced into Aziraphale’s heart.
Aziraphale knew he could not change Heaven’s mind, not with Gabriel and the Metatron in charge. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When they reopened, he was standing on a hill a few kilometers away from where the battle would commence, wings unfurled in angelic glory, and beside him was something, or someone, most unlikely.
Crawley had been sent to work very closely with King Antiochus. Hell’s cause to keep humanity focused on false Gods was his most important assignment on Earth these days. The spread of monotheism, the inevitability of God sending Her son in the next century or so, and other elements of The Great Plan were moving forward. This was all despite Hell’s best attempted interventions that made Crawley’s days, weeks, years, and decades very long. To try and avoid punishments that were too severe for his failures he focused on making Kings like Antiochus as fierce and terrifying as possible. The tribes that had resisted Greek influence called him “Little Horn” and rumors had spread that he was working directly with Hell. Crawley had gotten commendations for this, even though they were rapidly losing their grip on human lands and settlements.
Crawley was exhausted from watching battle after battle. He could not understand why Hell was so bent on fighting when they knew very well that it was written in The Great Plan that they would lose. “Denial… its not just a river in Egypt.” Crawley would grin to himself as he drank jugs upon jugs of mead and wine, trying to forget the atrocities that he watched humanity rain down upon each other.
He had gone to Beelzebub several times, and the conversation was always the same.
“What’s the point of it all… it all seems a bit pointless.” He would plead.
“It has yet to be decided, but the battle must be decided now, boy.” Followed Beelzebub’s buzzing voice and Crawley being enveloped by thousands of flies and locusts and dropped back onto the battlefield.
Crawley knew he could not change Hell’s mind, not with Beelzebub and Lucifer in charge. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When they reopened, he was standing on a hill a few kilometers away from where the battle would commence, wings unfurled in demonic glory, and beside him was something, or someone, most unlikely.
“Hullo Aziraphale!” Crawley said in the same upbeat tone that he usually had before some kind of atrocity. It made Aziraphale think of the flood, and he shuddered. He was glad to hear the Demon's voice, but their history, and what they had witnessed together over human history made it difficult as well.
“Hello, Crawley. I trust this is your doing?” Aziraphale looked over at the demon. His jet black wool cloak did not appear to be warm enough for the conditions. As a Demon who was used to hellfire, Crawley must be frightfully cold up here during the winter, and he felt a great wave of concern for the Demon come over him.
“I could s-s-say the s-s-same thing, A-a-angel.” His voice shook as his teeth chattered and body shivered. He pulled his cloak up high around his ears.
“Dearest, would you like a warm cup of tea? I expect we have done our part in this situation. It's best to leave it up to the humans now, yes?” Aziraphale motioned for Crawley to follow him back to the cottage behind the Temple where the priests used to live before the siege.
“S-s-s’pose you’re right, A-a-angel. That would be great, it's fr-fr-freezing up here this time of year.” Crawley shivered again.
Aziraphale wrapped his arm around Crawley and they walked toward the cottage. He justified embracing the Demon by applying mercy as a Godly virtue. That was right, mercy, not fondness, nor friendship, although truthfully he was very fond of Crawley and was always overcome with joy, that he certainly could not express outwardly, when their paths crossed.
Crawley flinched a little when the Angel wrapped his arm around him, but calmed quickly when he felt how warm Aziraphale’s body was against his. He justified the embrace by applying selfishness as a Satanic virtue. Selfishness, not fondness, nor friendship, although truthfully he was very fond of Aziraphale and was always overcome with a sense of relief, that he certainly could not express outwardly, when their paths crossed.
They sat in the cottage and miracled a fire in the hearth to boil water for tea. Aziraphale always preferred to make it the human way. As they warmed themselves by the fire, sipping their tea silently, they both let out a sigh.
Aziraphale broke the silence first.
“Crawley…I have seen the others, and I have discovered that…”
Crawley knew what the Angel was thinking. He felt the same way.
“...that this fight is not worth fighting, Angel… I know.”
“What do we do? Gabriel seems to think that the war must go on.” Aziraphale’s face was crestfallen and he set down his cup.
“Hell feels the same way, Angel. There’s nothin’ we can do.” Crawly said as he picked up the kettle and filled Aziraphale’s cup.
“Are there kids in the Temple next door, Angel?” Crawley has always had the most concern about human children. Aziraphale knew it was because deep down, he was kind, although the Demon would never admit it.
“Yes, the priest’s family. I miracled them warm blankets, but I am afraid it did not stop their shivering.” Aziraphale brought his hands to his eyes, hiding the tears that had begun to rise up in his eyes. “Gabriel forbade me from protecting the people, gave me the order to only protect the Temple itself.”
Aziraphale had not touched his second cup of tea, he only looked down into his cup, his mouth twisted in a sadness that Crawley had not seen since the flood. He had to do something, he could not stand to see the Angel this distraught.
“Leave it to me, Angel. Don’t worry, I won’t leave you here alone.” Aziraphale heard a snap and looked up to see that Crawley was no longer sitting in the chair across from him.
******
Crawley miracled himself into the ruined Temple. The ground, still retaining a bit of its holy consecration, prickled under his feet.
He could see the children huddled in the corner with their mothers, shivering in their sleep.
“I have seen their mothers, and I will no other to follow me where I’m going.” Crowley whispered to himself.
He snapped up from his knee to perform a demonic miracle. If Heaven had ordered the Angel not to protect these people, then Hell certainly had a prerogative to defy Heaven’s orders. He felt that justification was brilliant enough to deserve commendation. Suddenly, a fire was roaring in the hearth and the candles, who’s flames were barely flickering above the wicks before, the oil nearly gone, were burning brightly.
Crawley smiled as he watched the humans relax, their shivering quiet, as the warmth of the fire filled the Temple. He snapped again and found himself in the middle of where the battle was set to commence. He was the original tempter of humans and he had perfected the skill. He went to each tent where the men were preparing for battle and tempted the men on both sides to leave.
“Take a shower and shine your shoes
You got no time to lose
You are young men you must be living
Go now you are forgiven”
After eight days, Crawley returned to the Temple to find Aziraphale busy helping to clean up the broken glass and mess left behind from the initial siege. The dark, hooded figure was unable to walk into the Temple, the consecration of the ground restored by Aziraphale’s Angelic presence. Aziraphale excused himself and met the Demon at the door.
“I don’t suppose this was your doing?” He asked with a half-smile.
“Naw, all the humans really. I just interjected a bit of temptation, in the end they made their choice.” Crawly looked out at the empty tents.
“And the candles?” Aziraphale motioned to the Chanukkiah, its flame still burning brightly eight days after the oil should have run out, and the fire burning warmly in the hearth, the few logs that were left apparently untouched and lasting for over a week.
Crawley looked down at his feet and said under his breath. “Can’t have cold kids, Angel.”
Aziraphale placed his hands on Crawley’s shoulders. “It was very demonic of you to defy Heaven’s orders. Shame on me for disclosing them to you, dear boy.” They smiled and met each other’s gaze, yellow serpentine and ocean-blue, much like the binary stars of Alpha Centauri, gleaming beside one another.
Crawley reached up and placed his hand on top of Aziraphale’s. “Would you join me for a spot of lunch, Angel?”
Aziraphale smiled and took his hands back gently and tied his tunic up a bit tighter around his neck. “Certainly, my dear, and some wine would be quite nice.”
On the first Chanukkah, an Angel and a Demon shared a bowl of Matzo soup, Latkes, sweet wine and conversation. The humans in the Temple next door ate, drank, and as the sun went down they said a prayer as they lit the last candle.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ha-neirot Ha-lalu
Ha-neirot ha-lalu anu madlikim al ha-nisim v’al ha-nifla’ot
v'al ha-t’shu’ot v’al ha-milhamot, she-asita la-avoteinu
ba-yamim ha-heim ba-z’man ha-zeh,
al y’dei kohanekha ha-k’doshim.
v'khol sh’monat y’mei Hanukkah
ha-neirot ha-lalu kodesh heim,
v’ein lanu r’shut l’hishtameish ba-heim,
ela lirotam bilvad, k’dei l’hodot u-lhaleil
l’shim’kha ha-gadol,
al nisekha v’al nifl’otekha v’al y’shu’atekha.
These lights which we kindle recall the wondrous triumphs and the miraculous victories wrought
through Your holy Kohanim for our ancestors from ancient days until our time. These lights are sacred
through all the eight days of Hanukkah. We may not make use of their light, but are only to look upon them,
and thus be reminded to thank and praise You for the wondrous miracle of our deliverance.